


Beauty and the Bolton Beast

by myrish_lace



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Physical Abuse, Prompt Fill, Short One Shot, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:24:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9475487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrish_lace/pseuds/myrish_lace
Summary: Sansa and Theon are at Ramsay's mercy, suffering physical and emotional abuse, and both are starting to lose their minds. A piece of fruit helps them realize they need to trust each other, and escape.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).



> This piece is dark and disturbing! Please heed the tags and assume all warnings that would apply to any Ramsay story. There is ultimately light at the end of the tunnel. :)

Ramsay has a name for her. Beauty. It rhymes with duty, mocks her mother’s Tully words: Family, duty, honor. All reasons, Ramsay says, she should be submit to being the wife of a monster.

Ramsay likes to call her Beauty when he cuts her, bruises her, marks her with his fists. He whispers the name like a soft caress as he yanks her head back and slams her shoulder into the door.

She hates him with a fury she hadn’t thought possible. She’s losing energy though, dying out like an ember taken from a fire. She lies in bed most hours, afraid to sleep, watching the snow fall outside her window, pulling the furs up to her chin. She wakes, terrified, the first time she hears the name _Beauty_ echo through her dreams.

Reek is her occasional, silent companion. He brings her trays of food, bread, sweetmeats, once even a kidney pie, flaky and fragrant, steaming on a silver platter. She picks at the offerings, and sends them back largely untouched.

Sansa hated Theon, but Beauty and Reek have more in common. Reek brings Beauty snow packs for her wounds when he finds her sobbing on the stone floor, the fabric of her pale shift still torn. Beauty touches Reek's cheek tentatively the following week when she sees his bandaged face, one eye swollen shut and turning purple. She'll last longer, she expects. Ramsay, like Joffrey, needs her presentable, prefers her pretty, at least until she’s given him sons.

Beauty tastes blood for the first time when she can't bite all the way through an apple. The withered red skin of the fruit reminds her of winter raging outside her chamber walls. She feels her teeth loose in her mouth, pokes at one with her tongue, thinks of Reek’s teeth that have been knocked in from Ramsay’s blows. Beauty knows it’s the slow beginning of the end.

Reek sees the bloodstains on the apple's flesh when he arrives that afternoon. They lock eyes, and she sees tears streak down his face. Something inside him seems to snap, and he kneels in front of her, his voice urgent and hoarse, as if he hasn’t used it for a long time.  
“I'll get you out.” Reek wipes his nose on his ragged sleeve, and clasps her hands in both of his. Beauty’s surprised at the strength of his grip. “I won’t let him take you this far. You’re Sansa Stark. You aren’t going to have to die here.” She feels a frisson of energy as the sound of the name _Sansa_ washes over her, it’s hers, her own name, she’s had it with her the whole time.

Sansa squeezes his hand gently. “Theon. You’re Theon Greyjoy, of the Iron Islands.” She sees some of the light seep back into Theon's grey eyes, and he nods. He's still shaky, but there’s determination in his gaze.

"We're both getting out, Theon, both of us, we’ll escape,” Sansa says, and they embrace in the waning light. As the days go by, and she and Theon steal moments to plot their departure, she becomes sure of something else: She’ll return, and have her revenge, and Ramsay will die like a dog in Winterfell’s halls.


End file.
